


Giorraionn beirt bothar

by AsgardianAngels



Series: Angband Modern AU [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/pseuds/AsgardianAngels
Summary: In which Mairon is Irish and Melkor tries to make his boyfriend's first St. Patrick's Day away from family taste like a slice of home.Gift for a friend, a little snippet of my large Angband Modern AU which may eventually make it to the internet by the time the Dagor Dagorath rolls around.





	Giorraionn beirt bothar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hindue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hindue/gifts).



> Hey everyone! After much deliberation, I've decided to start posting any drabbles and such that are set in my Angband Modern AU to a series here on AO3.  
> It's a huge AU that I thought of two years ago, that follows Mairon Ainur and Melkor Bauglir from when they met at age 20 (Mairon worked at his father Aule's jewelry store, and Melkor was trying to kickstart his death metal band Utumno that included Thuringwethil on bass and Gothmog on drums), fell in love when Mairon left home to join the band (which was renamed Angband with the addition of their new backup vocalist), and were married. The band grew in commercial success and they became huge stars. It's totally a fix-it AU where no one dies and the worst thing that happens is Mairon getting mauled by a dog (BUT HE'S FINE DW). It also parallels another AU I am working on, the 'Angbaby AU' in which Tom Bombadil is actually the son of Mairon and Melkor. So, Tom may show up in one of these drabbles sometime, fyi. It's not mpreg. Don't worry. The stories in this series are not in any chronological order.  
> I hope this little story will make sense despite lack of some context. Mairon basically ran away from home, because his father refused to accept his sexuality and his life choices (aka, Melkor sux). This takes place in their first year living together. Mairon does, later that year, reconcile with Aule, and future holidays definitely include big family dinners. Also, Curumo is Mairon's little brother, and Melkor is the chef of the household.  
> Mairon has an English accent and hair as bright orange as the singer of Paramore in this AU. Just go with it.
> 
> This was written for @eomer on tumblr as a birthday gift.

“So.”

Melkor glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, brainstorming chords for their latest song on his expensive laptop studio program. Mairon was standing in front of him, pointing a dirty spoon at his face. It smelled like peanut butter.

“So,” Mairon started again. “You know what day’s coming up.”

Melkor set the laptop down beside him and leaned back against the couch, thinking for a moment. “A week until the new Meshuggah album comes out? I want to try and deconstruct some of their chord progressions, I like the thing they’ve had going on past few records.”

Mairon gave him a displeased look. “No, try again.”

“Alright...” He squinted while Mairon scooped another spoonful of peanut butter from the jar on the coffee table and began licking it. “Curumo’s birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

Mairon narrowed his brows. “Melkor, his birthday is in November!”

“Ok, ok, no need to get huffy,” he chided. Melkor stretched and laid his hands behind his head, really settling in to think hard about it.

“Oh! I’ve got it,” he said coyly, wagging his finger. “I promised you tomorrow night we’d try - ”

“Whoa, bloody hell!” Mairon cut in, nearly choking on his peanut butter. “No, not that!” He scampered over to the cabinet and hid the jar away before he could down any more of it. “And besides,” he added nonchalantly, “that’s next week.”

He returned to the living room, hands on his hips. “Melkor, you daft git!” He slammed the spoon down on the glass table. “You utter wanker.”

Melkor knew he’d pissed his boyfriend off when Mairon expanded his repertoire to insults more colorful than America had to offer.

Exasperated, Mairon finally said, “Babe, it’s St. Patrick’s Day on Saturday.”

“Oh…” Melkor acknowledged, albeit puzzled. “Wait - that’s what you were getting so worked up about? Mai, it’s a minor holiday at best.”

Mairon glowered at him, and Melkor shrunk into the cushions. No one could make a man’s testicles retract into his body with just one petrifyingly icy glare like Mairon (and yet do the opposite with just another).

“Melkor, I’m _Irish_ ,” he berated. “Three-quarters Irish, to be exact. How on this bloody earth did you not know that?”

Melkor stared dumbfounded at him. Somehow, in the nine or so months they’d known each other, that had never crossed his mind. He squirmed a little in his seat.

Mairon grabbed a lock of his blazing orange hair and shoved it in Melkor’s face. “How is it you think I have this, hm?”

“I-I...” he stuttered. “I thought… you dyed it?”

He cringed and braced himself for the inevitable explosion of rage. Instead, when he looked, Mairon was simply standing before him, stupefied.

“You thought I dyed it.”

“Yeeees…?”

“Babe.” His voice grew soft, which struck fear into Melkor’s heart. “I told you the day we met that I didn’t dye it.”

“I know, but…” He winced. “I didn’t, well, I mean I didn’t really believe you.” He attempted a nervous laugh. “Who has hair that color anyway, right?”

Mairon wasn’t laughing. Looking defeated, he moved Melkor’s laptop to the table and plopped himself down next to his boyfriend. “St. Patrick’s Day is one of the most important celebrations in the Ainur household,” he sighed.

“I dunno, I guess I always thought you were English.”

Mairon looked up at him. “People can be more than one thing you know. My mum was half-English. After she…” he stopped himself. “Well, my dad wanted to preserve that part of the culture so he brought us up with it in some obvious respects…” he shrugged. “Yeah, sorry. I, er, I guess there’s no way you could have known.” There was a twinge of sadness in his voice, and suddenly Melkor felt incredibly guilty.

Mairon laid his head against Melkor’s bicep. “I was just hoping that you’d be excited about it, that’s all.”

Melkor had a very acute sense of how much of a dick he’d just been. Mairon ran away from home. He hadn’t left on good terms, and even after almost a year that pain lingered like a scar that kept opening back up. Melkor had been ecstatic to leave his old life behind, but Mairon missed his family. He had bad memories, but unlike Melkor, he’d had a hell of a lot of good ones too. It was cruel to belittle something trivial to himself but so important to the person he loved.

“Shit,” Melkor muttered. “I’m sorry, Mai.”

Mairon said nothing, continuing to stare glumly out the window at the light snowfall dancing silently on the breeze.

“Hey.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Mairon’s head.  “I don’t know a whole lot about an authentic St. Patrick’s Day but I’m all here for it, if you’ll show me.”

Mairon finally turned to face him, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You’d really do that?”

How could he say no to a face like that? Besides, it’d be a chance to broaden his culinary horizons. He leaned forward and kissed him warmly.

“So, Mr. Leprechaun, where do we start?”

Mairon slapped him.

 

* * *

Table set for two, Melkor brought over a steaming bowl of stew for each of them and handed one to an eager Mairon. He breathed deeply, and a smile crept across his face.

“Oh, that smells lovely,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment to take it in.

“Now for the test.” Mairon took a taste, making sure to get a bit of the braised lamb with it. Within moments, he sighed contentedly, and the rising steam brought color to his cheeks. Melkor could see it: Mairon was home. He’d never felt a greater sense of pride.

“That is cooked to perfection,” Mairon murmured. He reached for a scone and dunked it in the stew. Melkor couldn’t help but grin at Mairon’s expression of utter bliss.

“Well, you did it,” Mairon declared at last, after savoring every bite there was to be had. “I don’t know how, but your half-Greek, half-Bulgarian arse did it.”

“What can I say?” Melkor bragged. “I’m just that good.” He got up and brought the bowls to the sink. “Besides, I owe my success to you, for being able to remember your dad’s recipe.”

How could he not? He’d been tasting it since he was big enough to chew solid food.

“You really are an amazing cook, Melkor,” he said, coming over and standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “Just quit this whole music business and open a five-star restaurant.”

“So Gordon Ramsey could yell my face off?”

“Dear, Gordon Ramsey would have nothing to say to you besides ‘Who do I make this check out to?’”

They both chuckled, and Mairon rolled up his sleeves to start washing the dishes.

“Whoa, hey, hold up,” Melkor said, face painted with a cocky grin. “Dinner’s not over yet.”

He turned to the counter and pulled the foil off the mysterious object Mairon had been eyeing all evening.

“You didn’t,” Mairon exclaimed. “Soda bread?”

“The brown kind.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Melkor took a little bow. “Try it.”

Mairon cut a piece, took a bite, and then looked between it and him, a smile of awe on his face. “This is just like we always made it. But, I didn’t give you a recipe.”

Melkor put a hand on Mairon’s waist and took his hand in his own, pulling him into a dance across the polished wood floor. “I may have called up your baby brother.”

“That’s cheating!” Mairon sputtered, crumbs flying onto Melkor’s shirt. They broke into laughter.

Once they settled down, Mairon set the slice down on the counter and wrapped his arms around Melkor.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Melkor embraced him, running a hand down those fiery locks. “I’m glad I could do right by your heritage.”

He stepped back and cut himself a piece of the bread. “I mean, I got the Mairon seal of approval, I’m practically Irish now.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe,” Mairon chuckled. As they stood, the grin slowly fell from his face. “I wish my dad could have seen this.”

“Hey,” Melkor whispered, putting a hand on Mairon’s cheek. “Never say never, you know?”

Mairon pursed his lips, almost as if trying to hold back tears. “Yeah. You’re right.” He gave Melkor a quick kiss. “Never say never.”

Melkor rubbed his back gently and reached over to pick up the half-eaten bread slice. “You gonna finish this?”

Mairon swiped it back out of his hands. “As a matter of fact, I am.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips as he gazed at him pensively. “Cha d'dhùin doras nach d'fhosgail doras.”

Seeming satisfied, with that Mairon left the kitchen, bread in hand.

“Wait, what does that mean?” Melkor called after him. “Is it about sex? Mai!” But the bedroom door was already closed.

He shook his head, and humming a tune began scrubbing the dishes. He then heard the door click open, and poked his head out into the hallway to see Mairon looking at him provocatively.

“Why, did you want sex?”

Melkor dropped the plate back into the sink and hustled to meet him, thanking the luck of the Irish that night.

**Author's Note:**

> ** Gaelic phrase translates to: ‘No door closed without another opening.’ **
> 
> Title translates to 'Two shorten the road.'
> 
> Look, I am Irish by heritage but I do not know Gaelic so I did my best.


End file.
